Resolve
by Cookiekitten
Summary: "Life is all about resolve. Outcome is secondary. It is resolve that determines the value of your life." A series of short stories focusing on those who helped Amaterasu along the way, for their parts of the tale will never be forgotten.
1. The High Priestess

**I'm actually really excited about ****Ōkamiden****. I can't wait until it's released. :D**

**Anyway, each chapter of this story will have a theme from a Major Arcana tarot card. First up is Rao. I liked her, even though we never actually knew the 'real' Rao. Waka is coming up next.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own** **Ōkami****. I don't own these tarot quotes either.**

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_The High Priestess:_

_"When we pull the High Priestess card for ourselves or for a querent, it is an indication that we are in communication with unseen forces."_

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_

Her prayer slips are powerful weapons, however Rao is not a warrior but a priestess. She is well-versed in legends and hymns, not combat. The fox-faced demon with nine tails brushes off her attacks with a single swipe of his massive paw. She cannot see his face, as it is hidden behind a painted ceramic mask, but she imagines he is laughing at her. The monster is merely toying with her. Child's play.

Ankoku Temple offers no protection from the demon's onslaught, and the woman doubts anyone would hear if she were to scream for help. The clouds swirling over Ryoshima Coast are dark and murky. Any traveler in his right mind would avoid being outside in such foreboding conditions as these. No, she is alone in this. Alone outside the temple that has become almost like a second home to her after all these years, where she has spent so many hours with her prayers and lectures.

And perhaps, Rao muses in the back of her panicked mind, this is a fitting place for her to die. A devout priestess, meeting her demise at her very own place of worship. Backed into a corner, the woman throws another prayer slip in desperation. It ricochets off a tree and shatters the demon's mask, spraying jagged ceramic shards every which way, and the world suddenly spins as a heavy, muscled tail slams into her midsection. She is thrown through the air, finally landing against one of the old, worn gravestones with a sickening crack. Gasping in pain, Rao forces her eyes open, forces her head up.

She wishes she hadn't done that.

The sneering face of the fox demon greets her, tawny brown fur pitted with scars. His right eye is missing, nothing more than a hollow indentation surrounded by pale, furless flesh, but the other eye is ruby-red, as dark and gleaming as the blood pouring from her twisted body. The demon smiles, leans close, whispers to her in a seductive voice about how she's failed, failed to protect Sei'an, failed to protect Queen Himiko. And Rao draws one last painful breath before she is tossed aside like a broken doll, down the stone well tucked away in the craggy mountainside, and into the dark.

* * *

Her spirit lingers in the mortal world, weak and unseen. The body has not been discovered yet—the entrance to the well is hidden by magic, invisible to most human eyes. It leads to a winding tunnel that connects to the royal palace, only to be used in emergencies.

She is nothing more than a ghost now.

The fox-faced demon has assumed her appearance, as well as her duties as a priestess. Citizens from the capital continue to pray at the temple under the gaze of the doppelganger, unaware of the real priestess' death. They thank the new, fake Rao, return to Sei'an with a smile on their faces. And the monster sends them off with words of encouragement and, once out of earshot, malice.

The real Rao weeps. There is not much more she can do.

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Months pass. The woman's broken body is little more than a skeleton now, dressed in tattered, faded clothing. People are visiting the temple more frequently than before, praying in desperate, panicky tones. They cry and beg for aid from the heavens. There is a poisonous mist spreading through the capital, causing all of its inhabitants to fall ill. What's more, the Water Dragon has suddenly become violent, Queen Himiko has locked herself away in the royal palace for unknown reasons, and the Emperor seems to be stuck in an unnatural sleep...

Rao is stricken with helplessness and sorrow. These poor people, there is nothing she can do to help them. She hovers over their sobbing forms, echoing their prayers with her own. They cannot see her but the priestess likes to think that maybe, just maybe, her words are being heard.

Eventually, the worshippers stop coming altogether. The Guardian Sapling is bare, leafless, and a cursed zone has spread through the entirety of Ryoshima Coast. The world seems to be made of nothing more than a heavy, oppressive fog, and the only visitors she has to the temple now are imps and lesser demons.

And yet...

The woman's tired eyes catch sight of a faint white glow through the dark haze one day, making its way up towards the withered Sapling. Focusing hard, Rao can make out the form of a magnificent white wolf, fur streaked with red markings and flames trailing from the Divine Instrument hovering at her back.

Could it be the Sun Goddess Amaterasu?

The priestess feels herself smile, the first smile she's given in many, many months. She still has a purpose in this world, Rao can feel it. Unseen, invisible, powerless as she is now, she can still help guide the Great Mother Amaterasu, if not in person but in spirit.


	2. The Moon

**Here's our favorite French-speaking, flute-playing, golden-haired prophet... Stay tuned, because coming up next is none other than Himiko! :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own ****Ōkami**** or any of these tarot quotes.**

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_The Moon:_

"_We see the Moon, forever our illusive guide through all the distractions. But is she a help or a hindrance?"_

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The little bouncing one, the artist, calls him a half-baked prophet. Waka almost resents this—after all, _sa chérie _and her envoy have never received a false prophecy from him. And so he laughs it off, offers a few cryptic words of advice, and tries to ignore the faint, tugging feeling of guilt when the tiny poncle accuses him of being the cause of all the misfortunes that are plaguing Nippon. The harsh tone of those words pain him, and it pains him more to know that, to some extent, they are true.

_(There is nothing he can do about the past, but it still hurts, hurts so much, and he suffers from it every day) _

The Tao master is neither a divine being from the heavens, nor a human from the mortal realm. For all the years he has walked among the gods in the Celestial Plain and for all his efforts in this land of mortals, the only place he feels he has the right to call home is the moon. The lunar realm is a cold, desolate place. Lifeless. It is a barren land of technology and machines. Flowers don't bloom there. Trees don't grow. But the moon is his birthplace, his origin.

_(Home)_

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The accursed Ark was built by the members of his race, and he was the very one who piloted it to the heavenly plain. He didn't know about the thousands of demons hiding within its metal hull. On that fateful day, when the Great Mother Amaterasu dragged Orochi down to the land of mortals, he was to evacuate the remaining Celestials in the Ark of Yamato.

_(His fault, all of it, all of them are dead because of him)_

He remembers the sound of their screams in his sleep, the crunch of breaking bones. Remembers the color of the blood staining the Ark's smooth surface. The roars and laughter of the monsters, the heaviness of his sword, the screech of metal when the Ark lost its rudder. The deafening impact into the frozen lake. Waka tries to forget the past. He tells himself that there is nothing he can do about what has already happened, he cannot reset his actions all those centuries ago. The people of the lunar realm do not age, not the way mortals do. A blessing and a curse—he has an eternity to regret his mistakes. An eternity of pain and guilt floating in the back of his mind.

_(Why would they do such a thing? His people had to have known about the dangers lurking in the depths of the Ark. They had to have known the curse it contained)_

And even after the Ark crashed into Laochi Lake, after the siege of monsters escaped into the mortal world, and after the countless deaths of the Celestials, her _children_, the Great Mother forgave him on the spot. She trusted him, trusted his prophecy about the birth of the Chosen One, and waited for him without question.

_(If he is the moon, then she is the sun. Warm, loving, full of life. He doesn't deserve her forgiveness, and yet she gives it to him anyway)_

It is sometime during her long slumber in stone that he realizes he loves her. And he patiently waits for her to wake up, just as she had waited for him all those years ago.

_(Amaterasu)_


	3. The Hanged Man

**Finally I've updated this. It only took what, four months? D: **

**Anyway, I thought Himiko was a cool character. The music and the setting are so intense the first time we meet her, I honestly thought that there was going to be a boss fight or something. Next up is Oki!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ōkami or these tarot quotes.**

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_The Hanged Man:_

_"As mentioned earlier, there is no expression of struggle or discomfort on the Hanged Man's face. This is a process of voluntary surrender, and he knows the outcome will lead to benefit."_

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Five times throughout her life, Himiko feels the irrepressible tug of fate.

...

The first time this happens, she is only a little girl, a princess, darting out the palace doors after having escaped the watchful eye of her handmaiden. The sun shines and the sweet scent of cherry blossoms hangs in the air like a veil. She contents herself with leaning over one of the balconies, watching the guards patrolling the quarters, the aristocrats gossiping amongst themselves in their cultured voices. She suddenly hears the sound of a flute, a delicate, well-practiced melody, and looks up.

There is... a strange young man standing on the rooftop. A _very_ strange young man indeed—Himiko, for a short moment, finds herself transfixed by his long hair, which shines like spun gold, and his geta sandals, which are so tall she wonders how he even manages to walk about without falling over. He catches her eye, smiles gently, bows and greets her as "_ma petite_." The words are foreign to her, as are his blue eyes and golden hair, but his accent is charming, and the princess soon finds herself smiling back.

... ...

She is older now, not quite an adult yet, but not a child either. By a chance encounter she makes an acquaintance with a young priestess-in-training, a girl named Rao who looks to be about the same age as herself. Despite the busyness of Himiko's schedule—her father, the Emperor, is growing older and feebler, and soon she will have to marry and become Queen—and the differences in their social status, the two become fast friends. Rao, Himiko learns, practices regularly at the old temple down in Ryoshima Coast and hopes to soon be a full priestess.

The other girl has a number of habits the princess finds endearing. She often brushes her hair out of her eyes, and she is always fidgeting with the string of blue prayer beads she has hanging around her neck. Rao often talks about her dreams of renovating Ankoku Temple, of adding statues and candles and flowers and holding grand sermons fit for the gods.

... ... ...

She is the Queen, the ruler of Nippon. No longer a carefree child, no longer a giggling adolescent. She has been married a few years now. Her husband, the current Emperor, prefers to let her rule the land, amiable and kind but always preoccupied with his trade of demon fangs. It is storming terribly outside. The heavy downpour and relentless clash of lightning makes Himiko briefly entertain the idea that Nuregami and Gekigami are perhaps playing a prank on the mortal land. Or that maybe the Water Dragon is waging a war of its own in the seas...

Rao visits her at the palace the next morning, when the skies have calmed and the winds no longer whip about viciously, but there is something not quite right about her. Perhaps it is only a trick of the light or a figment of Himiko's own imagination, but when the priestess smiles, her mouth seems a little too wide for her face, and her gaze is too sharp and too cold. Her hair is brushed over to cover her right eye, she is wearing new, red beads instead of her usual blue, and Himiko _knows_.

She knows, but does not say anything, does not do anything more than say a silent prayer in her mind for the deceased spirit of the priestess who had been her closest friend.

... ... ... ...

She receives visitors one day, months later, when she is staring intently into her crystal ball in the deepest level of her palace. She doesn't immediately turn around, doesn't lift the curtains hiding her from view, because she already knows who it is. The benevolent Amaterasu, along with her little poncle companion.

Issun's words are harsh and accusing, but he warms up when Himiko raises the curtains and reveals her face. He seems to be a little hot-tempered, though quite likeable overall, and the woman smiles. He will be a good missionary to Amaterasu once he finds his way. The Sun Goddess does not speak—perhaps in her current form, she is unable to—but the wagging tail and perked ears seems to indicate that she is willing to help the Queen with her plans to calm the raging Water Dragon. Himiko reaches into her robes and pulls out a border key, hands it over to the great white wolf with a small nod.

And when Amaterasu takes the key in her teeth, her black eyes shine with understanding, because she knows that this will be the last time they see the Queen alive. Himiko knows this, too. She has already foreseen it.

... ... ... ... ...

From her isolated room, over the crackles of lava and the lonely hum of her crystal ball, Himiko thinks she can hear the distant scream of her handmaiden. She hears the scrapes of opening doors, the pitter-patter of approaching footsteps. And when she finally turns around, there stands Rao, who isn't really Rao anymore, with a too-wide grin and red beads and a cruel, mocking eye. "_My Queen.._." she simpers, as she raises the nine-pointed sword in her hand, her face contorting into an expression that is no longer human, the face of a monster. "_My dear, sweet Himiko_."

The false priestess lunges forward with the grace of a fox, and Himiko greets her death with a smile and open arms.


	4. Judgement

**Ōkamiden is an awesome game. Had a lot of fun playing it. Anyway, here's Oki's chapter. He was always one of my favorite characters (the Oina tribe in general were pretty cool. I liked using Bloom to make them change from human to wolf). Next chapter will be Issun's. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ōkami or these tarot quotes.**

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_ Judgement:_

_ "The Judgement card comes up in a reading when it is time to heed our highest calling. When we are at a crossroads, and it is time to lift ourselves up and transform our lives. It comes at a pivotal time when we must be honest with ourselves, judge what best action should be taken and rise up to the challenges to embrace our best life."_

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_(The wall of ice shall shatter and open the way to the heavens when Kutone, the guardian sword, glows silver)_

With a snarl, Oki swiftly cuts down one monster. Then two. Then five. And then, the ground stained red and the bodies of a dozen slain demons scattered in the snow, he frowns from behind his blue wolf mask. The wind still howls. The hail continues to fall. Kutone has yet to shine with its fabled silver glow.

The others do not understand. Lika is too young and too innocent to understand. Kemu is too old, Tuskle too preoccupied with her duties as shaman. Kai tries to understand, but she is too compassionate, too naïve, to see why he took the legendary sword. Samickle understands, Oki thinks. But he is the chief now, charged with keeping Wep'keer safe, and too busy to leave the village.

Kutone dances through the frigid air, effortlessly cleaves through the body of demon number thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

The storm is relentless.

Sixteen.

The sword refuses to glow.

Seventeen.

Shifting into his wolf form, Oki throws his head back and howls into the sky.

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His body aches with pain. Why is he in such pain? Oki remembers—remembers walking through the Spirit Gate, taking care to remain out of sight from the poncle and his strange white wolf companion. He remembers arriving in a village he does not recognize, the landscape green and warm and so unlike the bitter snows of Kamui. There is a Guardian Sapling by his feet, a tiny, feeble thing, but Oki pays it no more than a short, curious glance.

He walks. He doesn't know where he's going, so he follows the scent of the white wolf out the village. Two monsters appear as he makes his way through the Shinshu Field of one hundred years ago. Two monsters. Oki lunges, Kutone sings.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

There is no sun, no moon. The black sky is swirling like smoke.

He remembers arriving at a cave at the end of a long stretch of land surrounded by sea. The Moon Cave, he's sure of it, from the legend of Nagi. Oki makes short work of the imps guarding the entrance.

Twenty.

Twenty-one.

Twenty-two.

Issun and the white wolf must have already made their way through the cave, for many of the demons lie already dead or dying in its cavernous depths. Impatiently, he cuts his way through a group of stragglers attempting a weak ambush.

Twenty-three.

The strange white wolf with the red markings—what had the little poncle called her? Amaterasu?

Twenty-four.

Kutone doesn't glow. Oki swings harder, more fiercely.

Twenty-five.

In his mind's eye, he sees—Kemu's anger. Tuskle and Samickle's disappointed stares. Lika's innocent, childish smile. Kai's pleading eyes.

Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine.

He remembers forcing his way through a gate and being greeted by a bridge modeled after a dragon's back and a shock of open air. He sees the eight armor-clad heads of the vile serpent, Orochi, and he boldly, recklessly, steps in front of Amaterasu and Issun, his blade drawn and fighting stance ready. Issun yells at him, yells that he can't attack because Lika is on the serpent's back, but Oki brushes him off with a flick of the head and a few coldly determined words. He lunges with the legendary sword and, even in his human form, he lets out his strongest howl. Something blocks his strike, a magical barrier of some sort. Kutone never reaches Orochi. He is knocked aside like a pesky insect by one of the serpent's heads, and lands against a craggy stone wall. It hurts. His body aches.

Oki remembers, finally _remembers_—this is why he is in such terrible pain.

He stumbles back to his feet unsteadily. The sword shakes in his hands. He can barely speak, can barely breath, barely even notices when Orochi rears its frontmost head back, jaws smoldering with flames.

The serpent is distracted by the timely arrival of Nagi, the legendary hero. The man, dressed in ill-fitting sacrificial robes, holds his sword up to the swirling, smoky sky, and Amaterasu raised her head to the heavens and howls.

The clouds part.

The moon shines.

Nagi's sword is bathed in golden light.

And Oki pounds his fist into the ground, burning with rage.

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He is locked in battle with the Golden Demon, Lechku. The owl screeches, but the shriek of metal striking metal is even louder. Oki is flung away and lands steadily on his feet, Kutone raised. Behind him, he can see Amaterasu and Issun and—another white wolf, somehow looking more impressive than the former, with tendrils of light shining at her fur and more intricate, spiderwebbing crimson markings. Strange. But he pays it no mind. He will slay the twin demons and the legendary sword will glow, will recognize him as the hero who saved Kamui by bathing its blade with monster blood.

Lechku's clockwork components begin shifting, ticking rapidly. The hands on its clock are beginning to move. Nechku rights itself in midair, still sparking and smoking with electricity, no doubt due to injuries incurred from fighting the wolf who could only be Shiranui at the peak of her power. The Silver Demon has no clock built into its body like Lechku, but has a lunar calendar instead, and the pages are beginning to turn.

Oki shifts into wolf form, Kutone resting against his back. Amaterasu barks and Issun cries out—it's too dangerous, too risky, they would be better off retreating for now and making a plan. Oki ignores the little artist. This is the moment that the legendary sword will shine, the moment that will prove him a hero!

The clock continues to tick. The lunar calendar still turns. Shiranui blocks his path, snarling. He knocks her aside and leaps into the air.

The Golden Demon Lechku strikes twelve o'clock.

And in an instant, time has frozen.

He can't move. He can't blink. He can't even feel his heartbeat. He is suspended in midair—and Nechku hovers up in front of him. The Silver Demon raises its cane. It is metal, with a spearlike point at the end. The monster means to skewer him. Oki tries to do something, tries to do _anything_, but he can't dodge, can't attack, can barely even open his jaws to voice a curse. From the corner of his eye he can see something hurtling his way, something emitting trails of light and ablaze with swirling markings the color of the sun—

Shiranui pushes him out of the way. He lands, reverts back to a human. Nechku's cane pierces the Sun Goddess through the chest. She howls in pain and anger and uses the last of her strength to unleash a fierce flurry of strikes on the twin demons, leaving them to flee into the night sky, badly injured. The white wolf is unable to land on her feet, hits the ground and tumbles off the edge of the platform. Amaterasu just barely manages to grab her previous incarnation by the scruff of the neck, but her claws are beginning to slide against the icy ground. Issun grabs the end of her tail and pulls.

Oki pushes himself up to his feet. The twin demons are weakened now, retreating away to lick their wounds. This is his chance. He glances back.

Shiranui is still dangling, Amaterasu and Issun still struggling.

Lechku and Nechku are still in range—with a running start, he could still jump up and reach them.

Another glance back. Amaterasu lets out a whine. A tree, frozen from the blizzard, cracks at the base. It tips backwards, towards the two wolves and the poncle. Oki grabs Kutone's hilt. From behind his mask, his face is set in determination. The frozen tree falls.

The sword slices through the trunk, leaving the two halves to fall away with a heavy crash. Amaterasu manages to pull Shiranui back up onto the platform and softly noses her bloodied fur. Issun exclaims in surprise.

Kutone shines with a silver light, as bright as the moon. Oki stares at it, disbelievingly. He stares. And finally, he understands.


	5. The Fool

**It's about time Issun finally got his chapter! Next is Amaterasu, which will mark the end of this little series. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ōkami or these tarot quotes.**

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_The Fool:_

"_The Fool makes no plans, or gives no thought to possible complications along the way. Happy to be doing something different, the Fool blindly sets out where all else may fear to tread."_

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Issun doesn't consider himself to be a poncle of particularly complex tastes. His likes and dislikes are fairly straightforward. The former includes such niceties as pretty damsels-in-distress, taking a relaxing nap in Sakuya's clothing, and watching Ammy kick some monster butt. These are all things Issun can appreciate.

...Not that it's all sunshine and daisies, though. There are some things the little artist has no tolerance for. Half-baked prophets and nine-tailed foxes masquerading as pretty damsels-in-distress both fall under this category. And for that matter, so does the idea of sticking to a rigid plan.

Bah! He's an artist whose paintings thrive on fluidity and flexible brushwork and a creative spark. Those are the kinds of things that make a masterpiece come to life. Not literally, like the way Ammy does it, but close enough. A painting doesn't have to move and breathe to be _alive; _that's what old man Ishaku always told him.

...Why is he thinking of his grandfather, anyway?

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The poncle artist isn't about to lie and say that he and Ammy haven't gotten into some pretty close shaves throughout their adventure. He's not about to pretend there weren't any times where it would have been smarter to think _before_ leaping. But where's the fun in that? An epic tale needs to be made. The world around them is the canvas, and he and his favorite Sun Goddess furball each have a brush full of ink.

And so, they plummet off the edge of a crumbled staircase in the Moon Cave. They leap down the sleeping Emperor's throat under the power of a magical, lucky mallet. They scale the glowing footprints of the skyward Catcall Tower and follow the ghost of a priestess down an abandoned well.

There is no freedom in rigidity, no room for the paint to run and colors to bleed and blend.

"_C'mon, Ammy!"_

Maybe it's adrenaline, or maybe it's just foolhardy determination, but Issun's advice is always the same.

"_...Leap before you think!"_


	6. The Sun

**It's over! Considering how few words this story was, I can't believe how long it's taken me to finish it. Amaterasu's chapter has been planned for some time, but it took me a while to figure out how to write it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ōkami or these tarot quotes.**

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_The Sun:_

"_The Sun is inevitable. We can always count on it to rise each morning. Even if we've had the most dark and despairing night we are able to derive confidence that this too shall pass when we see the sun rising over the horizon."_

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A shrine watched over by a tiny sapling sprite. Chiseled stone where had once been flesh and muscle and white fur. A village nearly torn apart from fear, now gathered around the statue under which the Sun Goddess is buried. Nagi speaks a few gruff words of thanks. The elders give their blessing.

In the distance, illuminated by the pale glow of the moon, a golden-haired prophet plays a soft lullaby. Ink splashes onto parchment as an inch-tall poncle engraves the last memory of the celestial wolf into his mind. The infant wood sprite peers up at the carved stone with curious, innocent eyes.

Sleep.

Slowly, quietly, the lullaby continues, and Amaterasu sleeps. The villagers return to their homes. A final flourish of ink completes the painting, at which Ishaku stares with a wistful sigh. Waka turns a sorrowful gaze at the moon. Sakuya reaches a tiny hand up to touch the statue's snout.

The sapling will spread its branches towards the heavens. The inch-tall artist will grow old, and the prophet with golden hair will look to the future. Amaterasu slumbers in a carved shell of stone. Blissfully, unknowingly. A well-deserved _rest_.

A long century will pass before the statue stirs with life and the great white wolf opens her eyes.

But it does not matter.

The sun will rise again.


End file.
